


Amends

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Making Up, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Castiel made a mistake and you’re more than happy to give him the silent treatment. Until he comes up with a way to make it up to you.





	Amends

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A little thing this week with some teasing; rated T for some stuff but no smut. One of these days I might post my terrible, terrible excuse for smut. This is not that day. Also, just a side note, that I am always happy to make jokes or references about other angel-related properties, and “Dogma” is way up there. (However the day I find a place for my excellent “Noyz and Boyz” joke from a super long, super scrapped fic is the day you will learn to fear my author’s notes because the pure length of my proselytizing and true depth of my abiding love for “Angel Sanctuary” will know no word count.) Anyways, off topic. (Or maybe a warning…) Nonetheless, please enjoy!

 

The room is dark and quiet. You barely notice either of those things, and even when you do they don’t bother you. You’re still too angry, even days later; light and noise would probably set you off.

Noise like the fluttering that suddenly comes behind you. You tense up and your flesh becomes so riddled with goosebumps by the unnatural breeze that it’s like your skin wants to remove itself from your person. When Castiel says your name you allow a low sound to escape with your exhale. It isn’t really a growl, it’s nearly silent, but it carries a note of warning that you know he hears because he doesn’t say anything else.

 _Now_ the angel is silent. _Now_ the angel is smart.

He moves around the armchair you’re reclined in and sits on the side of the coffee table, just inches from your elevated feet. Castiel’s eyes are bright and soulful and you would have thought, before now, that seeing him so plaintive would set you off, but apparently his sincerity goes a long way towards soothing your homicidal rage. The fact that he looks like he’s actually sorry is a start.

But just that– a start. You sigh, and wince at the full body ache caused by the miniscule movement. Or, more likely, caused by several days of working your way through a loosely interconnected hive of vampire nests. You’re not sure how the human-shaped leeches went from being critically endangered to popping up like fucking roaches every time you turn around, but you can’t deny they’re great for working out stuck-up asshole angel-related frustrations.

“Are you hurt?” Castiel’s eyes flick over your body.

You’re not sure you can speak without snapping. But you open your mouth to try and…nothing terrible happens. “Just sore.” Look at you, being all civil and shit.

“I could–” Castiel starts to extend his fingers and snaps them back before you can break them off and shove them somewhere wholly unpleasant.

The silence hangs around but Castiel– bless and damn him in equal measure– is nothing if not persistent. “Perhaps I could massage your feet?”

You…actually consider that. He’s good at it, it takes time, and effort, and you’re not opposed to Castiel having to show some care and concern and earn forgiveness rather than act like he can just have it on a whim. You give him a slight nod and he strips off his coats, rolls up his sleeves, and eagerly moves to sit at the edge of the table, seemingly revitalized by being given a task to work at.

You melt a little as those massive, strong hands press and rub away the soreness in your feet. Some of the stress of the fight with Cas, the hunting, the constant moving around to stay one step ahead, fades away too, and you can take a moment to appreciate how adorably focused your angel is, even with such a mundane task. He keeps his eyes on his target and you can feel his carefully measured strength as well as his carefully measured grace. He keeps his angelic powers in his hands and where they touch, and doesn’t allow it to spiral in invasive tendrils through your body. When it comes to grace, you’ll permit it to go without abandon for near-death situations, but bumps and bruises just don’t warrant it. However another, more _fun_ use of his grace springs to mind, and you allow yourself to consider it.

Cas seems to be on the same train of thought as he moves his hands from feet, to ankle, to calf. That feels really nice, actually. Some fanged bastard had clipped your leg, swiping past the muscle in a way that took you down in the moment and made you ache in the aftermath. Cas is massaging the area so well you don’t realize he’s speaking, whispering, until you randomly come aware in the middle of whatever he’s saying.

“…I just worry so much. Too much,” he murmurs softly. His face is close to your skin and he presses a light kiss to your shin. “I took it out on you, I acted in a way I never expected myself to, and I am so, so sorry. I am happy to humble myself before you, because you don’t make me feel low. You make me feel human. And if I could be like _you_ , I would consider that the greatest gift I could ever receive.”

You take a sharp inhale and feel the last of your resolve crumble. “Cas,” you say and wait for him to lift his head. You crook your finger for him to come hither and smile. “Get over here.”

He practically flies to sit on the stuffed arm at your side, and you use his tie to pull his mouth to yours. You’re both hungry for each other, kissing and tasting and leaning up and down to press your bodies together in whatever way you can. You slide your hand in a light arc down his side and feel his whole body shudder. He becomes ravenous, and you hold his head with both hands and force him to slow until he actually receives the message. When you pull his head back his lips are almost swollen and his wide and the pupils are almost dominated by his lust. Tempting…

“Cas?” you purr.

“Yes, my love?” he asks, staring intensely into your eyes.

You give him your most seductive smile and part your lips and arch up. Cas leans down and moves in for the kiss. The kiss that doesn’t come as you slide your head to his ear. “Do you remember when we watched “Dogma”?”

He stills. “Y-…yes…” he says, a little bit of caution returning to his pleasure-addled voice.

“You remember that part where that guy’s wings get shot off?”

Sure enough, it’s like dumping a bucket of ice water on Cas’s head. Only better, because the ice wouldn’t affect him if he didn’t want it to. The memory of that scene makes him shudder in a very different way and he leans back, pouting. You smile brightly up at him. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. No reason, of course. Just randomly.”

“I see.” His mouth goes flat but the corner of it quirks. Just a little. “My penance does not include watching that film again, does it?”

“No, but I maintain that movie is a classic and you are a Philistine to hate it so much.”

Cas opens his mouth– probably to give facts about actual Philistia– so you yank on his tie like you’re Quasimodo tending to the bells of Notre Dame. “Get over here and cuddle. I’ve missed you.”

He slides into the chair and turns the both of you until you’re somehow in his lap and he’s holding you close. “I’m sorry,” he says and presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. “I will be more considerate in the future.”

“And I’m sorry I got _that_ mad,” you say and lean in to kiss him again, finally back in your angel’s arms, right where you belong.

 


End file.
